Left Behind
by SilverWolf7
Summary: ...Yes, this one is definitely supposed to be sad.  Whether I wrote it well and it actually is is another thing entirely.  Crowley grieves, Aziraphale helps him through his emotions.  Aziraphale's POV.


Disclaimer - Only John is mine, even Emily isn't. I just gave her a name and family. So, all but John must belong to Gaiman and Pratchett.

Notes - Be prepared for angst, and non-slash friendship between Aziraphale and Crowley. Any parts of this that are wrong in the...well, the scene with John and any mentions of Wills are my fault entirely.

Left Behind

Not hearing from Crowley for long periods of time was usually expected, but as of late the two of them had gotten closer.

Their Arrangement had lasted the test of time, which was strange enough in itself. They had even gone as far as to think themselves as friends of a sort, though that word describing the two of them would never be uttered aloud. Especially by them.

But only just hearing the news and not having seen Crowley during the weekend when they usually met for lunch or dinner, he had begun to get worried.

He caught a bus to Mayfair and walked to the apartment building Crowley lived in, shaking his head slightly at the number of vehicles outside the complex. It was to be expected of course, but it truly didn't help any. Why, of all places, would they gather here?

Shrugging slightly and sending prayers that each would be alright and that there was no trouble with the days events. It could do nothing, except hope but make them all feel that little better.

Entering the building he quickly went up the flights of stairs, not being patient enough to wait for the lift. It was somewhere about halfway up that he cursed Crowley for living at the top, and himself for not exercising his body. He would truly have to remedy that.

When he finally made it all the way up, he shook off his tiredness and knocked at the door. No one answered.

"Crowley? Are you in?" he asked loudly, banging on the door harder. He heard a voice inside, but it was too muffled to understand what had been said. Sighing, he let himself in, forgetting that people usually shouldn't be able to open locked doors by the handle without use of a key. Breaking and entering briefly etched itself into his mind, but he couldn't help but be concerned. Besides, it was like payback for all the times Crowley had done the same thing to him.

"Crowley?" he asked again quietly, this time only hearing a hiss of annoyance coming from the direction of the bedroom. That too was muffled.

Reaching the slightly opened door, he pushed it open a bit further and peeked his head in. He saw the figure that he was looking for so deeply buried under the blankets, except for a mass of black hair peeking out the top.

"Crowley! I didn't catch you two days ago, and I was really beginning to...are you alright?" It seemed absurd to even ask. It was plain to see something was wrong with the demon.

"Go 'way," was all the answer he got, before the blankets seemed to slither over the body in the bed and the head of hair was swallowed whole.

Worry burst hot and bright inside of him. Had something bad happened, was the body of his demonic friend one inch away from being discorporated as he watched the now unmoving mass in the bed.

He quickly padded over to the bed, and pulled the blankets away from the head that had a few seconds before, fully submerged itself. He blinked as he encountered yellow eyes, their slit-like pupils dilated almost to circles, but were fast going back to normal.

"How long have you been buried under the covers?" he asked cautiously, watching as the demon blinked slightly.

Crowley didn't blink unless surprised. He wasn't surprised right now.

"Since Saturday," came the quiet answer. Aziraphale was somewhat heartened at this. At least Crowley was talking.

"It's...odd really, isn't it angel. You can be the only creature for miles around that is likely to live forever, and never feel anything about how short lifespans are for everything else. Then you get attached to one and everything just...dies."

That last word was said with finality. Crowley had meant every word of what he had just said and, looking into the demons eyes, he saw the emotion that was trying to escape the self-made prison.

It was all made clear to Aziraphale in that moment. "Oh, poor dear. I remember seeing her once. She was a good person, and always tried to do what was right."

"Angel, _please_," Crowley begged, and looked up at him. It was a look to break hearts. In the bad sense...well, in the sense that it made one ache to take away the feelings raging beneath the surface.

Emily Sutton, the old woman who had lived below Crowley had passed away early on Saturday morning. He had been informed of this by a higher ranking angel than himself. He had no idea why he had been told, only knowing her soul would go to God.

"It was only a cold. Everyone gets colds. She...she didn't like being alone when she was sick, as it made her feel more lonely than anything else. I helped her look after her plants. She couldn't water them properly any more and she hired me to do so.

"Y'know, she came here every Christmas to give me a card and I would give her breakfast. She would give me chocolate eggs on Easter and I gave her sherry in exchange...she was always here. Now she's...not."

Grief. Aziraphale had grieved before. He was a loving creature by nature and it came naturally to him to try and comfort those who may need it most. He had seen a lot of death, been at the deathbed of quite a lot of good people who were losing their faith at the thought of their very last breath. He would give that hope back, show that there was a Heaven and that they would go there.

He grieved for all these people, and most of the time since being instructed to do it, he had always had Crowley to turn to, to say what had happened and to cry out his feelings.

Crowley had done the exact opposite and it was beginning to take its toll on him.

"Oh, my dear boy," he said, pulling the still-wrapped body towards him and he held Crowley against him and begun gently rocking, while rubbing what he supposed was his back.

A strangled kind of sound was heard from the demon and he shifted positions, so Crowley could rest his head on his shoulder. He gave the black hair a light kiss before he continued his gentle rocking.

The gestures of kindness on his part finally began to pay off as he felt his shirt become decidedly damp. It wasn't what he had expected though. Crowley had never cried before, he realised and sighed. Even now, the only tears escaping his aquaintance were the ones he couldn't control any longer. He still had that tight hold on his emotions.

After only a few minutes, Crowley pulled away, swiping furiously at his face and scowling at his lack of control. He had managed to stop the flow of silent tears.

"It's alright to let your feelings out, Crowley. I won't hold it against you," Aziraphale stated gently, squeezing one of Crowley's shoulders through its blanketed covering.

"Piss off, angel. I don't want, nor need, your comfort," Crowley stated, his voice gruff and not from the tears just shed.

Aziraphale sighed. Some people were too stubborn for their own good. Crowley was too stubborn for anyone's good, especially while in a foul mood. Add on that the demon was feeling grief for the first time...he couldn't leave.

Still, it couldn't hurt to leave the room. Getting up, he left Crowley in his bed, before going to the lounge room, looking at the books Crowley had stacked in his bookcase, and settled with reading what he hoped didn't end end up being erotic in nature. They all were oddly romance though.

A half hour later he was engrossed in the love affairs of two young people, when the doorbell rang. He quickly set down the book in a crevise in the lounge, hoping it wasn't someone after him for reading such things.

He didn't feel any divine presence and nothing demonic except for the very familiar aura Crowley gave off, so he relaxed, got up and answered the door. A young man with light brown hair and dark brown eyes was standing on the other side, tears still wet on his face.

"Are you Mr. Crowley? 'Cause he was absent from the apartment today even though he had been told to go. Nan had left him something in her Will is all."

Aziraphale ushered the man in, who introduced himself as John Sutton. He went about making tea in the unfamiliar kitchen while he told John that Crowley was too distraught to go anywhere, really. He explained that Crowley hadn't yet left his bed.

"I only came here to drop this off," John stated, pointing to what he had brought in with him. "By the looks of it, she has found a good home."

The young man shakily drank his tea, said his thanks, handed Aziraphale a letter and told him to give it to Crowley before he left. All this happened in a three minute time-frame.

He took the letter into the main bedroom, and uncovered the head of the demon again. No more tears had fallen, and Aziraphale was quite disappointed in that.

"Here," he said, shoving the letter in the direction of what he thought to be hands. One snaked out and snatched at it, ripped it open and Crowley begun to read. His breathing got more ragged as he went along.

"Grace? She...she left me Grace?" Crowley asked, looking up at him with huge golden eyes that seemed to almost shimmer in the dull light.

"Is that the name of that gorgeous looking plant Mr. Sutton bought here? Then yes, she did leave you Grace."

"No...Grace was her most prized possession, the thing she loved most in her life, except perhaps for her family, but they weren't...constant. Why? Why would she leave me with..."

What Crowley was going to say, Aziraphale will never know as before the sentence was finished the damn seemed to break, so to speak. The careful walls made on Saturday began to crumble and Aziraphale could do nothing to ease such torment. No tears yet, but soon, Aziraphale was certain of that.

"Oh God, angel, this hurts. Make it go away, please!" Crowley begged, holding out his hands towards him, as if waiting for a healing touch. "She told me to turn around and water her plants again just one more time. I laughed, but did as she said. When I had gotten back she was dead. Dead!"

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered softly, as he grasped those hands, letting the demon lean on him. "Let it out. Only that and time will ease your pain."

"I don't want to cry!" shouted the demon, almost pulling back. Truly, he was becoming more child-like with each passing second.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley's head back to his shoulder and held it there. "Well, I wish I could make you feel better, but I cannot. You may not want to cry, but your body needs it to get rid of the hurt. No one needs to know."

Crowley buried his head as deep as he could get it on a hard surface and whimpered, "What if I can't stop?"

Aziraphale smiled slightly, a sad smile that seemed rather fitting for the situation. "You will, though I would suggest staying home for a few days yet."

Crowley whined a bit, before shifting closer to him, for the comfort or his body warmth, he didn't know, but it was nearing Christmas now...either or both it could have been.

Aziraphale was expecting tears, but the gut wrenching sobs that seemed to come from the deepest parts of the body and were usually hidden even from one's self were enough to start Aziraphale crying too.

It was as if Crowley was crying for other things too. Yet, he was grieving and that affected every one a bit differently. When the tears slowed down, and stopped a little later, Crowley was complaining of feeling ill to the stomach. The demon fell asleep not long after. Aziraphale had the odd feeling that it was the first time Crowley had slept since that weekend. Odd behaviour for the demon.

Aziraphale stayed at his friend's side as the sun sank low and night fell. He was still there as the sun rose again, and the world about them woke up.

He would stay as long as he was needed.

A/N - This story was begun when I heard that one of my internet friends' Mum had died earlier that day. It was finished the day that another internet friend lost her mother. Undoubtedly it was written to try and express grief.

Hope neither of them hurt me for this, but when I was told originally, the first thing I did before bed was start writing this. It wouldn't leave me alone.

Also written because I always wondered why, of all the neighbours Crowley was bound to have, only one was ever mentioned. And that, nothing but a passing remark about an old woman. For that I had to think that it was because he liked her in some way. And I can't magine her going off and being an evil granny, though that is a rather interesting idea.

This one is for those who have recently lost one they love.


End file.
